Abchanchu sneers through the blackness

nature retreats from his sight

For he is the dark

the night

the not living

–

With each solemn step

grass dies underfoot

murkiness left behind

no life

just the absence of all

–

Even the moon hides

so not to be observed

The apparition consumes

all

that catches his gaze

–

Once every seven years

he rises

once every seven years

stay hidden

to not be seen

My Poetry Unworldly